and real, as to make all others seem faint and illusory by
comparison. Her father had a serious illness. He had not been
well all the winter; and one day, Madelon, coming down from
the violinist's room, had been frightened almost out of her
small wits at finding him lying back unconscious in a chair in
their little _salon_. She called the old woman who acted as
their servant to her assistance, and between them they had
soon succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, when he had
made light of it, saying it was merely a fit of giddiness,
which would have passed off. He had refused to be alarmed, or
to send for a doctor, even after a second and third attack of
the same kind; but then a fever, which in the mild spring
weather was lurking about, lying in wait of victims, seized
him, and laid him fairly prostrate.

His illness never took a really dangerous turn, but it kept
him weak and helpless for some weary weeks, during which
Madelon learnt to be a most efficient little nurse, taking
turns with the old servant and with the violinist, who
willingly came down from his upper regions to do all he could
to help his little favourite. In some respects she, perhaps,
made the best nurse of all, with her small skilful fingers,
and entire devotion to her father. She had a curious courage,
too, for such an inexperienced child, and the sense of an
emergency was quite sufficient to make her conquer the
horrible pang it gave her loving little heart to see her
father lying racked with pain, unconscious, and sometimes
delirious. She never failed to be ready when wanted; the
doctor complimented her, and said jokingly that the little
Signorina would make a capital doctor's assistant. Her German